


Table Ten

by LowerEastSide



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Café, Casual Sex, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Muggle London, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-25 15:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17727557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LowerEastSide/pseuds/LowerEastSide
Summary: Harry loves working on Thursday nights.





	Table Ten

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the speedy beta read, keyflight790! Also thank you to smittenwithdaydreams for looking over this with a critical British eye. (I had no idea coffee refills weren't a thing for Brits? It was inextricable from the fic at that point so lets say an American opened the cafe, shhh.)
> 
> Finally thank you to the mods at HP Darkarts for this wonderful little mini fest.

 

~~~

Every Thursday night was Open Mic Night at the cafe. Harry loved waiting tables during this shift. Most of the musicians and their friends were a good sort, and they were easy customers who didn’t overstay their welcome. It had been a bit of a gamble for the owners to open a gay-friendly cafe, rather than a bar which could profit heavily from alcohol, but the tea, coffee, food, and low-key, casual environment had almost immediately been popular, and after several years it was still going strong.

At eight, they cut one server, and Harry inherited Maria’s section. It was a night for regulars, so he could spot a new face in the crowd right away. There, at table ten. A lone blond man drinking a coffee.

He was gorgeous.

There was a regal air about him, from the way he held his cup to the way his expensive clothes were perfectly pressed. Yet even from across the room Harry could sense a palpable anxiety. The man sat stiff-backed, ill at ease in his surroundings, as his eyes darted nervously toward the door. Harry knew the type — closeted men sometimes read the cafe’s listing in the back of a magazine, or saw an advert, and came to cautiously check out the scene.  

Well, he was here now, and Harry had a job to to.  Approaching with his usual confidence, he asked the handsome man if he needed a refill, and was greeted with a posh, rich voice.

“Another, yes.” The man held his cup out, his every movement graceful. “Do you know how long the performance lasts?”

Harry poured carefully while still maintaining eye contact. “It’s an open mic. It’ll go on til’ everyone has played.”

“Hmm.”

“Having a good time?” Harry watched the man consider his answer.

“It’s… a nice distraction.” _It gives me time to read my surroundings without interacting with people,_ Harry took this to mean.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Harry said with a smile. It came off a bit more flirtatious than he usually allowed with customers, but he figured this man for a once-only visitor, and he really _was_ handsome, so there couldn’t be much harm.

The man’s eyes widened at Harry, and he looked away quickly. “OK,” he said, almost shyly. Harry blinked and made his way back to the counter.

His section was busy, but Harry kept sneaking glances back at table ten. The stranger seemed to be similarly intrigued, and they locked eyes several times before Harry decided to make his way back over.

The man nodded at Harry as he approached the table. “I don’t need a refill quite yet.”

“Just checking,” Harry smiled. He wasn’t quite sure what had come over him; he didn’t need to flirt for tips, and he was generally a bit more distant — friendly, of course, but never familiar. Yet there was something about this man that drew him in.

“Just wave me over when you’re ready,” he added.

About a half an hour later, during a warbled rendition of ‘Wonderwall,’ the man did just that. “Are you enjoying the performances?” Harry asked as he poured.

“Some better than others,” the man grinned. It was a shaky smile, betraying his nerves, but there was definitely an undercurrent of interest.

“Well, there’s some regulars, but we get different songs each week. You’ll have to start coming every Thursday if you don’t want to miss anything good.”

“I’m afraid I’m only in town on business.”

Now Harry was even more interested. “Make sure you stay until the end tonight, then,” he said with a wink.

The man licked his lips before taking a sip of coffee. “Is that a personal invitation?”

“I can’t invite you personally if I don’t know your name,” Harry teased. The man hesitated, and Harry wondered if he’d gone too far.

“I suppose it’s only fair, since I know yours,” the man said at last, pointing at Harry’s name tag. “I’m Draco.”

“That’s unusual.” _Draco,_ Harry said to himself, feeling the name unspoken in his mouth. It felt like a secret. “I like it,” he declared, and Draco’s cheeks went a bit pink.

Harry looked out over his section; most of the tables were still full. “I’ll see you for another refill in a bit, yeah? Next one’s on me.”

Draco’s hand shook a bit as he lifted the coffee cup again, but he sat up straighter. “Alright then, Harry.”

Throughout the evening, Harry continued to watch Draco, even while serving other tables. He really was incredibly handsome, in an angular sort of way. That was Harry’s type; he’d never really gone for the beefcakes, preferring more unusual beauty. But he doubted Draco was living openly. It was just a feeling, based on how he held himself, on how he still eyed the door like he might need to escape and regarded the other patrons suspiciously. It was obvious he was only here to feel things out, and wasn’t in search of anything serious.

And Harry wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. He had travel plans in his future, as soon as he’d saved up enough dosh. He _was_ looking for a little bit of fun, however, and although it wasn’t encouraged, it certainly wasn’t against the rules to hook up with a patron at the cafe. In fact, he couldn’t think of any of his coworkers who didn’t get their kicks like that occasionally.

An attractive man, likely not seeking a relationship — and lacking any drama that might come with sleeping with one of the regulars. Harry resolved to put on his best smolder and win Draco over for a night, or maybe even a few, before he returned to wherever he called home.

~~~

An hour later it was slow enough for only one server. By all rights, Harry should have stuck around — he was the closer, after all. But he couldn’t risk his mark leaving and disappearing on him forever.

He caught up with the other server in the kitchen. “Hey, Cam. Remember when I covered for you last Sunday?”

“Yeah?” Cam asked warily. “Why?”

“Think you could stick around and close tonight?”

Cam sneered. “Fuck off, I’ve been here since two!”

“And I worked eight days straight for you last week because you were hungover! You owe me.”

“Ugh.” Cam peered around the door out into the main room. “You’re trying to pull that blond over at ten. I’ve been watching you flounce around him all night.”

“At least I’m not having the dishwasher suck me off in the walk-in.” Cam threw a towel at Harry’s head but he ducked it. “Come on, please?”

“You’re a slag,” Cam sighed, shaking his head. “But alright. Only because I’m sick of you whinging on about how long it’s been since you got your dick wet.”

“Wish me luck, then!”

Cam waved Harry off with a sigh and returned to the floor.

Harry quickly pulled off his apron and name tag, and made a quick stop by a mirror in the lav to check his appearance, not bothering to attempt anything with his hair. He returned to Draco’s table, approaching from behind, and slid into the second chair. “Hey,” he greeted Draco, with what he hoped was a sultry look.

Draco drew back in surprise. “Are you allowed to join me while you’re working?”

“I’m off!” Harry leaned back in his chair. “Mind if I sit down?”

“I… No, not at all.” Draco regarded Harry warily for a moment, then leaned forward, his hand on his chin. “Did you finish early for me?”

“Nah,” Harry lied. “Cam wanted to close tonight. Hey, Cam!” He flagged his co-worker down. “Can I get a latte? And a couple of pasties.” Cam rolled his eyes and went to fill the order.

Draco motioned at some money on the table, enough to cover his bill. “I’d just been about to leave, actually.”

“Oh.” Harry swallowed back his disappointment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“No, I can stay!” Draco rushed out. “"I — I'm not familiar with...these sorts of places."

“You don’t have to.” God, Cam was going to kill him if he’d stuck around for nothing. Harry was usually so good at reading a pull.

“No, I… I would like to.” Draco idly touched a pound coin on the table, running a finger around the edge. He regarded it like a foreign object. As his fingers moved, his sleeve rolled up a bit, and Harry caught a glimpse of black ink peeking out. _A tattoo? Doesn’t seem the type._

One of the performers began playing a rather lovely rendition of ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water,’ and Harry and Draco sat silently for a minute, simply listening. “What sort of business brought you to London?” Harry finally asked.

“Er, banking,” Draco answered. “It’s terribly boring.”

“Can’t imagine wearing a suit all day.” Harry ran his finger over the blazer that Draco had draped across his chair. “Though I’m sure you look good in it.” Draco blushed, but he also leaned even closer, and Harry continued. “You pull the trousers off rather well.”

Cam interrupted them, setting the latte and pasties down with a clank. “Start you a tab, Harry?” The smirk on his face said _I’m not giving you the employee discount._

Draco pulled out a tenner and set it with the rest of the money. “That should cover it.’

“Oh, I couldn’t —” Draco cut Harry off with a wave.

“Nonsense, you’ve been working all day.”

Cam huffed. “All day, my arse,” he muttered under his breath, but he scooped up the money just the same.

Reaching over for a pasty, Draco arched an eyebrow, an expression that looked so at home on his face Harry felt a mild deja-vu. “He wanted to close, eh?”

“Well, he owed me.” Harry took a sip of the latte; it was terrible. “I covered for him last week. Don’t mind picking up the shifts, really, I’m saving up.”

“Oh? What for?”

“To get the hell out of here.”

“Out of London? Why? Were you born here?”

“Surrey. Didn’t like my family much, my aunt raised me. Just always wanted to see the world.” It was a pat answer. As a child, Harry had dreamed of escape like a man dying of thirst dreamt of water. The Dursleys had never loved him, though as he grew older, their cruelty became one more of indifferent neglect rather than abuse, as though they had decided Harry wasn’t worth the trouble of even hating. Coming out at the age of seventeen had sealed the deal, and he’d never spoken to them again. “What about you?”

“Wiltshire. But I live in Paris now, most of the time, and occasionally Milan.”

“Wow,” Harry laughed. “If you hadn’t told me banking, I’d have said it sounds like you’re a model.”

Draco bit his lip, obviously pleased by the compliment. “Flatterer.”

“I call it like I see it.” Harry leaned back in his chair, making sure his long, lean figure was well on display. As expected, Draco’s eyes raked over him, finally settling on his eyes.

“Why are you so interested in talking to me?” Draco asked at last.

“Why not?” Harry answered easily. “You caught my eye.”

Draco laughed awkwardly. “You’re rather forward.”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But I stopped being ashamed of myself long ago. It’s always better to be honest.” Harry leaned in again, close enough to whisper. _Now or never, Potter._ “And to be perfectly honest, I’d really like to take you home.”

Draco reached out with trembling fingers and took another sip of coffee. For a long moment, Harry thought he’d blown it. But then Draco abruptly set the cup down and stood. “I’d rather take you back to mine.”

~~~

Draco was staying at an executive suite, not far from the cafe: more posh than most of the apartments where blokes took Harry home, and certainly better than his barely-furnished bedsit. Harry had walked there beside Draco, not saying much, but occasionally making sure their hands brushed.

Inside, Harry laid his coat over a chair and took a look around. It was a small but well-appointed studio. There were books and what looked like parchment paper on the desk, weighed down by a carved stick, and a hook on the door with several cloaks. A small table by the hob served as a kitchen area, and on the other side of the room was a bed covered in dark linens.

“I’m just going to the loo for moment, yeah?” Harry gestured toward the small door, and Draco nodded. Harry washed his face and double checked his pockets for a condom and lube. When he came out, Draco was facing the window and unbuttoning his shirt. Harry came up behind him and lightly kissed the nape of his neck.

“Let me.” He turned Draco in his arms and led them over to the bed, where they knelt as he finished undoing all the tricky little buttons. The silk shirt fell open to reveal pale, perfect skin. Draco was smooth everywhere, pink nipples already at attention. Harry immediately wanted to taste them, and lowered his head to teasingly lick around the nubs. Draco keened, and his hands flew up to tangle in Harry’s hair, holding him tightly. Harry grinned and bit down gently. After giving equal attention to the other nipple, Harry pulled back and started to wriggle out of his own clothes, as Draco shucked his trousers and pants and lay down.

For a moment, Harry simply admired the man he’d been lucky enough to fall into bed with that night. Draco was flushed, breathing hard, his cock at the ready. It was an average length but temptingly thick, and Harry couldn’t wait to have it in his mouth, or his arse.

Harry also saw the tattoo he’d caught a glimpse of in the cafe. It was a snake crawling out of a skull, in a sort of figure eight. It reminded Harry of something you’d see on a heavy metal album, not at all what he’d associate with this posh, handsome man.

“Misspent youth?” Harry chuckled, pointing at the strange design.

“Shut up,” Draco hissed, a sharp current of anger running through his voice, startling Harry.

“Fine, you don’t have to get shirty with me.” Harry kissed him hard, and Draco returned it eagerly, obviously preferring they get on with it.

Each kiss was more heated than the last, and Harry’s excitement ramped up. He loved discovering a new body and all the ways to please a person. He stroked his hand over Draco’s skin, looking for the places that made him moan or jerk in Harry’s grasp. Nipples, yes. Hip bones, a bit ticklish but yes. Cock, a definite yes.

Harry only managed a few strokes before Draco slid out from under him and turned him on his stomach. “Not so shy anymore, are you?” he gasped as Draco bit at his shoulders and the nape of his neck. He didn’t get an answer as Draco roamed down his back, licking and kissing, all the way to the cleft of his arse. Harry wondered if he’d be lucky enough to be eaten out, but Draco pulled him to his knees and moved his kisses higher instead.

“Lube is in my pocket,” Harry gestured breathlessly at his jeans, discarded at the end of the bed. “Don’t need a lot of prep.” He was met with silence, and turned quizzically to see Draco staring down at him. “Draco?”

Draco shook his head as if to clear it, and reached for the lube. “That’s good to hear,” he laughed nervously. “Not sure how long I can last.”

Suddenly, Harry wasn't sure if Draco had done this before at all. But he slicked his elegant fingers and leaned over Harry, pressing two fingers inside Harry’s arse with a practised slide, and was confident enough in his motion that Harry figured he must have been with at least some other men.

Harry bucked back against those long fingers with a whine, trying to move so they hit the best spot. “Can’t wait for you to fuck me,” he panted, and felt Draco shiver. “Give it to me, come on.”

Draco laid his forehead against Harry’s back and paused; Harry could feel his hot breath, could feel his left hand tighten on Harry’s hip as if to steady himself.

“Yes,” he said at last. “I’ll give it to you.”

~~~

Afterwards, Harry lay awake, staring at the ceiling as shadows crossed it. Draco was on the bed beside him, having dozed off almost immediately.

The sex had been good. Very good, even. Draco had proved to be a little bit wild, reminding Harry of the boys he’d been with as a teenager. Untrained, but fervent, and blessed with an excellent cock. And yes, maybe he’d been uncoordinated, so that Harry had to reach down and bring himself off, but it had been fun all around — exactly what Harry had been looking for.

So why was he lying here, feeling like he’d missed something?

He shifted onto his side, and Draco stirred, opening his eyes. A light sleeper, then.

“Hey,” Harry whispered, somewhat at a loss. This was normally where he pulled his clothes back on, said thanks for a great time, and slipped out the door.

Draco blinked sleepily. “You’re still here.”

“I’ll get out of your way, don’t worry.” Harry moved to sit up, but Draco reached out and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder — not pushing, just resting it there.

“You can stay, if you want. Until morning.”

It was probably a bad idea. Harry never slept over, not even with his repeat hookups. Yet something in Draco’s eyes compelled him to lie back down.

Draco smiled, and moved his hand to brush an unruly strand from Harry’s face. “Where’d you get this?” he asked, tracing the scar through Harry’s eyebrow.

“My parents died in a car crash when I was a baby,” Harry replied. “I lived.”

“I… I’m sorry.”

People never knew what to say; Harry simply shrugged. “It’s alright. I didn’t know them. Came to terms with it a long time ago. Just lucky I came out of it, I suppose.”

Draco shuddered. “I don’t drive,” he said. It wasn't the usual platitudes Harry expected when someone found out he was an orphan, and he strangely appreciated it.

“I assume if you travel a lot it makes sense not to own a car.”  Harry was reminded that he only had this gorgeous man for a night, and he might as well get the most out of it. He began stroking Draco’s arm, then down his sides, gauging his interest for a second round. “Do you think you'll ever live in England again?” Harry wondered aloud.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, seemingly enjoying the petting. “There was a lot of… trouble in my family. I’m trying to make things right. I need to be away often.”

“So you have to take your pleasure when you can, then.” Harry accentuated his point by leaning in and pressing a kiss to the side of Draco’s mouth.

Draco turned his face and captured Harry's lips with his own. "Mmm, I suppose you're right."

The kiss grew heated as Draco reached up and took hold of Harry's hair, pulling his face to the side and exposing his neck. As Draco bit and suckled there, Harry tilted his head and licked at Draco's wrist. He made his way higher, tongue coming to rest on the strange tattoo; Draco's fingers tightened in Harry's hair but otherwise he didn't react. It almost felt electric under Harry's tongue, but that had to be his imagination.

After a brief struggle for dominance, Harry ended up on top, his thighs bracketing Draco's. He bit down on Draco's collarbone, eliciting a sharp gasp. "What is it about you?" Draco moaned, his cock now fully hard and pressing into Harry's stomach. "I've never wanted anyone like this.”

Harry grinned to himself — he _was_ good at this, after all. "You make it easy for me, you gorgeous thing,” he whispered hotly in Draco's ear, sliding his hands up to interlace his fingers with Draco's own. Briefly, he glanced up at his right hand holding Draco's left.

It was practically invisible, barely a shade darker than the surrounding skin, but the flex of their fingers now revealed it — the unmistakable tan line of a wedding band.  

Harry felt a pang of resentment, then immediately chastised himself. Draco was only a one night stand, they were using each other. What did it matter that he was hiding from his wife?

Irritated nonetheless, Harry tightened his grip and pressed Draco down into the mattress.

"I want you again.”

Draco's eyes widened. “I don't —”

He broke off, but Harry was well aware what he was trying to say. “You still get to fuck me, no worries.” Reluctantly letting his grip slacken, Harry reached for the lube. He still felt open, but there was no such thing as too wet, too messy.

He'd mess Draco up.

Half an hour later, Harry was panting and desperate, exhausted from his efforts to keep Draco on the edge as long as he could. For his part, Draco didn't beg for Harry to finish him off; rather, he tensed and twitched underneath, his breath hitching every time Harry rocked slowly back and forth.

Harry was close, so close, but he wanted just five more minutes. Looking down into Draco’s wide, desperate eyes, Harry felt his anticipation mix with a sense of inexplicable dread. His rapidly approaching climax seemed like a moment of inescapable doom, but one that he urgently wished for, and he bore down just a little more.

Abruptly, Draco shivered and whined, coming inside Harry in a series of juddering thrusts. Unable to draw this out any longer, Harry arched and began to strive for his own orgasm in earnest. As little sparks of pleasure danced down his spine, everything went white. Vaguely he heard a crashing sound echo in his ears, maybe a flash of green light that seemed like a memory, and the white turned to black.

~~~

When Harry came to, he was sprawled on his back. Groping over the bed, he failed to find Draco, and sat up suddenly.

Draco was standing by the window, silhouetted by the streetlight streaming in through a pane of broken glass. He was holding the stick Harry had previously seen on the desk, pointing it at Harry with a trembling hand. He would have looked more threatening had he not been stark naked.

“What happened to the windows?” Harry asked.

“You…” Draco's voice was as shaky as his grip on the stick. “You shattered them.”

“I _what?_ Like an opera singer?”

Draco stared at Harry dumbly. “Ac —accidental.”

“Well of course it was an _accident,_ I don't go round yelling at glass on purpose.”

“Accidental _magic,_ ” Draco bit out. Now it was Harry's turn to stare in confusion.

“A magical outburst?” Draco continued. “Like when you were a child?” Harry just shook his head.

“You don't have to play stupid,” Draco bit out. “I'm a wizard, too. Obviously.” He waved the stick for emphasis.

Harry barked out a laugh. “A fucking wiz- mate, stop having me on.”

Draco swallowed, suddenly terrifyingly calm. “You don't know.”

“Know what?!”

“No one ever told you. No one ever _found_ you. Oh Merlin, I'm sorry.”

“For _what?_ ” Harry had a growing sense that something was very wrong here. _Merlin?_

Draco seemed to steady himself, his arm coming to rest with the stick pointed downward. “Thank you for tonight. It's rare I'm able to share this kind of intimacy with someone. I’m grateful.” His formal tone did nothing to reassure Harry. “However, I can’t be the one to show you the way, here. I can't risk being exposed. Also,” he muttered, “I've probably violated the statute.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry pleaded. He recalled the current that passed between them, just before Draco came inside him. “I don't know what happened… but there was something there, something between us.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco repeated. “More sorry than you will ever know.”

“Draco!” Harry pleaded, aware that something terrible was about to happen. Draco frowned, and raised the stick.

“ _Obliviate._ ”

~~~

Every Thursday night is Open Mic Night at the cafe. Harry loves this shift. It’s a night for regulars, an easy crowd. He comes on at eight and inherits Maria’s section. He's in a good mood but he can’t quite shake the feeling that there’s something he should be doing. Almost unthinkingly, he glances over his shoulder at table ten.

It’s empty.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](https://lower-east-side.tumblr.com/)


End file.
